


On Stranger Tides

by KyloTrashForever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben is 32, Ben might have a few qualms with partial nudity, Canon Age Difference, Conflicted Kylo Ren, F/M, Force-Sensitive Rey, Kylo Ren Redemption, Kylo Still Killed Snoke, Loss of Virginity, Pilot Ben Solo, Pilot Rey (Star Wars), Pirate Rey, Rey Left Jakku At Fourteen, Rey has no qualms with partial nudity, Rey is 22, Sharing a Bed, Smuggler Rey, Surprise Kissing, basically most of the events of TFA and TLJ happened but without Rey, cockpit smut, snarky rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: “And how much would you charge me, pray tell, for your… services.”She presses her lips together in an innocent expression. “I think… fifty thousand credits should cover it.”“Fifty thousand credits?”He recognizes that he’s just gaping at her. It isn’t as if this amount is anything substantial to him, isn’t as if he couldn’t pay her this amount ten times over if he desired—but theprincipleof the thing. Fiftythousandcredits to get him into adoor.“You drive a hard bargain, pirate,” he sighs.“Told you, it’s Rey. Not pirate.”“Rey,” he murmurs, testing it and deciding it suits her, somehow. She’s a nuisance, this pirate, this Rey—but she is not boring, by any means. “Alright, Rey. We have an agreement.”In which Supreme Leader Kylo Ren goes looking for something on Takodana and finds much more than he expected.***ON INDEFINITE HIATUS***
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 191
Kudos: 657
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	1. Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I'm not very good at canon if I am being honest, but I saw [this](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1279131338793254912?s=21) prompt and it really grabbed me, so here we are!

At first he thinks he might be seeing things. 

The proximity alarms are still chiming on the dash, and his TIE still vibrates a bit from the blast that clipped the Silencer’s wing. He rolls quickly without thought to try and veer out of its line of fire—the old freighter maneuvers easily, despite its appearance, to keep him in its sight.

_It’s like seeing a ghost._

For a moment there is a flash of panic, like seeing a _ghost_ —but he reminds himself that the pilot of the _Millennium Falcon_ is dead. He _has_ been for years now. 

_So why is Kylo being gunned down by his ship?_

The Falcon fires another blast while Kylo is still craning his neck to try and confirm what he’s seeing—this one striking true and taking off the entire left wing as Kylo curses under his breath. He manages to hold his TIE steady as he attempts to descend with one wing, only _just_ able to keep from rolling as alarms ring in his ears and lights flash all around the cockpit. 

It takes much of his energy to keep the TIE mostly stable as he falls lower and lower towards the canopy of trees below—losing control completely when the right wing that remains collides with the treetops. The Silencer lurches forward in a roll that sends him hurtling into the trees, the ship crashing against the ground on its head and screeching across the planet’s surface until it is practically spit out of the forest to skid to a halt in the soil of an empty meadow beyond.

Kylo’s chest heaves as he hands suspended and upside down in the now-still TIE—assessing the damage to his body and finding it miraculously minimal. He reaches for the harness that keeps him strapped to the pilot’s seat, wrestling it apart only to fall in a heap against the cracked window of the ship. 

“Ow,” he mutters bitterly.

He can feel his saber still strapped to his hip, unholstering it to grip it tight in his glove as he pulls the emergency release that sends the door of the TIE projecting out into the grass so that he can crawl out.

Light flames crackle at the destroyed wing of the TIE, smoking billowing upwards from the spot, and Kylo reaches to press against a tender part on his head, pulling it away to find blood as he clicks his tongue. 

This is definitely _not_ how he thought this was going to go when he decided on coming here.

He’s all too aware that no one from the First Order knows where he is. He didn’t think much of that when he snuck away. He does now.

Because the Falcon is already landing only a few yards away, the tall grass around it bending in either direction as the landing gear deploys to let it touch down slowly. Kylo’s head throbs as he readies himself for a fight—his heart hammering in his chest as he watches the ramp descend. 

Despite what he knows to be true there is some small part of him that is preparing himself to be met head on by the ghosts of his past—his hand shaking slightly against the hilt of his saber as he watches the empty ramp with wide eyes, half-expecting that same familiar face to appear, half-expecting to see—

But it isn’t. Who he thinks. 

It’s a girl. 

Just a _girl._

She’s all tanned skin and dark hair that is piled high in three separate pieces—her brow set in a menacing expression that seems too big for someone as small as she is. Her dark boots end high at her knee and give way to skin-tight leggings of dark brown, and her tunic is comprised of some thin, beige fabric that is cinched tight beneath her breasts by the same material that is wrapped around either of her upper arms. For a moment he’s too stunned to react—met with this tiny scrap of a girl stepping down from the decrepit old behemoth—but then he notices the blaster she’s pointing at him.

“On your knees,” she grinds out. “Drop your weapons, or I shoot you in the face.”

There’s a flash of anger at her tone, because honestly, how _dare_ she speak to him that way—and he grits his teeth as he takes a step with every intention of doling out ample punishment for her insolence, his fingers lifting his saber just as a wave of dizziness strikes him all at once. 

He feels a wet line creeping over his forehead and his brow to drip into his eyes, his vision bleeding red even as it blurs and clouds and his head beginning to throb, seemingly more affected by the crash than he first thought. He takes a step, and then another, each one just a little less sure than the last—and he opens his mouth to say something, to let this girl know the entire extent of her error in gunning him down—

And then everything goes dark.

* * *

His head is still throbbing when he wakes—jolting a bit as he comes to only to feel the binders clamped around his wrists and the hard wall at his back. He blinks against the lights as he takes in his surroundings, finding them familiar in a way that comes from having been here before, in another life. 

But the girl isn’t familiar—not outside of that same feral expression on her face that she’d given him when he first met her. 

“Don’t move,” she threatens, her wrist casually braced against her bent knees and her hand clutching the blaster pointed straight at him as she crouches on a bench a few feet away. “Not unless you want a hole in that pretty face of yours.”

_Pretty face?_

His brow furrows and his lips purse; no one has ever called Kylo Ren a _pretty face_ before.

“You gunned me down,” he rasps, his voice still thick with sleep. “Why?”

“You don’t think I recognize one of those First Order ships? What are you doing skulking around Takodana?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he huffs.

She laughs a little as she taps her blaster against her knee. “I don’t think you have the privilege of being coy here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he bites out. 

She surprises him with a grin, revealing perfect white teeth as her nose wrinkles with humor. “Someone’s touchy. You’re a higher up, aren’t you?” She nods her head towards his body in a general motion. “Must be, with that fancy cape of yours.”

He grinds his teeth together. “Who _are_ you?”

“Name’s Rey,” she tells him casually. “Just Rey. Don’t have a last name or anything.”

He gives his wrists a tug. “Release me from these bonds.”

“Why would I do that?” She laughs quietly. “Big thing like you would have me on my ass in a quick minute.” She shrugs. “No, I think you’re fine where you are. For now.”

He considers using the force to break them, glaring down at the silver binders at his wrists with barely-checked irritation—but to do so would potentially reveal who he is, and for reasons he can’t quite fathom this girl has no _idea_ who he is. Something that is a novelty to him. He knows to inform her would put him in a precarious position, given that he was stupid enough to sneak away from the command ship without telling a soul where he was going. 

She’s still looking at him with something like amusement now—having no idea how easily he could free himself and punish her for her cheekiness. Up close like this he notices the light dusting of freckles across her nose, can take note of the shade of her eyes that resembles the pieces of seaglass he used to collect as a child on trips to Kashyyyk with his father and Chewie, and it’s admittedly distracting, her face.

He breathes deep through his nostrils as he glances around the interior of the Falcon—trying to distract himself from the indignity of being the captive of this tiny creature. Being inside it feels something like traveling through time. Absolutely nothing has changed about it in the years since he last stepped aboard; he can almost imagine his Father stepping around the corner to scold him for pilfering through the cargo bay for treasures.

“How did you come by the _Falcon?”_

Her brow furrows, cocking her head with confusion. “The _Falcon?”_

“This ship,” he murmurs. 

“This piece of junk?” She purses her lips, turning up her face to reach up and tap at the wall beside her. “Been calling her Bertha.”

“ _Bertha?”_

“I think it sort of fits, don’t you?”

“This ship is called the _Millenium Falcon.”_

“That’s sort of a mouthful,” she says flippantly. “I like Bertha better.”

He huffs with irritation. This girl really gets under his _skin_ . “Where did you _get_ it?”

“Old thing was half buried in the sand on Jakku,” she tells him. “Got her working again so I could blow that joint. Probably… eight years ago?”

He narrows his eyes. “You would have only been a child. You’re telling me you not only _fixed_ the _Falcon—_ ”

“Bertha,” she corrects.

“—but you _piloted_ it as well?”

“First of all, I was fourteen,” she scoffs. “Hardly a child. Secondly, I sure did.”

“And you’ve had it all this time?”

“Yep.”

He doesn’t know what to think of that. 

In all the years that have passed between the time he last stepped foot on this ship—he never expected to see it again. Especially not like _this._

He can’t help it. He finds himself curious about this little scavenger who is apparently some sort of prodigy pilot.

“And what have you been doing with it all these years?”

She pokes out her lower lip with an airy back and forth motion of her head—waving her blaster in thought. “I… relocate items of various importance for a fee.”

Kylo snorts. “You’re a pirate.”

“It puts bread on the table.”

He thinks to himself that the _Falcon_ seems to only attract a particular type of pilot. Han Solo would think these turn of events hysterical. 

“So how do you know what this ship is called anyway?”

His eyes flick up to meet hers, frowning in thought as he considers how much he should reveal to this scavenger pirate. “I’ve been on it before,” he tells her vaguely.

“What was a First Order higher up doing on a junker like this?” She grins at him. “Do you just make it a habit of getting captured by—in your words—pirates?”

“Hardly,” he grumbles. “I’ve just… I’ve been on it before. That’s all you need to know.”

She taps her finger against the barrel of the blaster, her head cocked as she regards him carefully. “I’m going to ask you again,” she tells him pointedly. “What are you doing on Takodana? First Order’s got no business here.”

“I’m…” It sounds ridiculous even in his own mind—chasing after a relic of a man he’s never even met, trying to find _any_ type of connection to a family that he hardly ever belonged to. “I need to speak to Maz Kanata.”

She narrows her eyes. “What business do you have with her?”

His jaw works subtly, not trusting this girl as far as he can throw her—and he assumes he can throw her pretty far. She’s so _tiny_ , after all. It wouldn’t really take much to get his hands around her and—

Unimportant. 

“I’m looking for something,” he says finally. “I think she knows where it is.”

“For the First Order?”

“No,” he answers truthfully. “This is a personal matter.”

She studies him carefully. “Didn’t think First Order types had personal matters.”

“But I do,” he says quietly.

“Hm.” Another restless tap of the blaster at her knee as she mulls this information over, finally pulling it away to let it rest on the bench beside her so she can stand. “You’re kind of interesting,” she tells him. “For First Order scum.”

“That’s high praise from a pirate,” he grumbles.

Her lips curl in a grin. “Bet a fancy-caped big deal like you would have a lot of credits to spare.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can assure you that holding me for ransom will _not_ work out in your favor.”

“Did I say that’s what I was going to do? That sounds like a lot of kriffing work. I have a better idea.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m going to help you with your personal matters,” she says matter of factly. “And then you’re going to pay me handsomely. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

“Hardly fair when I could have already been tending to it _myself_ for _free_ had you not gunned down my ship and taken me prisoner.”

Another wide grin that makes his chest prickle with irritation and… something else. “You came to Takodana _alone_ dressed like _that_ —and you expect to, what, just walk into Maz’s castle and start asking around?”

“I…” His face screws up at her amused tone. “Yes?”

“You might be pretty, but you’re not too bright, huh?”

“Do you have any idea who you’re—”

“You’re going to need my help if you want to move around the castle without raising a fuss,” she points out. “Entire place is rigged with sensor grids. They’ll see you coming from a mile away. You won’t make it through the _courtyard_ without a local. I’ll cut you a good rate.”

He gapes at her with an open mouth—something stirring in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a good number of years. 

_Intrigue._

“So let’s say I accept,” he starts carefully. “You’ll… what? Get me into Maz’s castle? Take me to Maz Kanata? Help me find what I’m looking for and just… that’s it?”

“Sounds like a fair trade to me.”

It’s not something he’s used to, this strange interest she stirs in him—Kylo has spent a good number of years perfecting the art of feeling hardly anything at all—and he hasn’t really, felt much. Not when he killed his master, not when he took his place, not since...

“And how much would you charge me, pray tell, for your… services.”

She presses her lips together in an innocent expression, waving her hands aimlessly as if plucking a number at random even though he knows this is most likely not the case. “I think… fifty thousand credits should cover it.”

“ _Fifty thousand credits?”_

He recognizes that he’s just gaping at her. It isn’t as if this amount is anything substantial to him, isn’t as if he couldn’t pay her this amount ten times over if he desired—but the _principle_ of the thing. Fifty _thousand_ credits to get him into a _door._

“Takodana is home to almost every fugitive, smuggler, and all-around _bad names_ in the galaxy. You really wanna waltz in there and pick a fight with every single one of them?”

Kylo narrows his eyes. It’s not a matter of not thinking that he _couldn’t_ handle a band of no-goods and thieves, it’s only a matter of actually _wanting_ to. He knows to do so would bring about a world of attention he doesn’t need. That bastard Hux would have a lot of questions if he were to find out that the _Supreme Leader_ was galavanting off on Takodana in the middle of a war. 

“You drive a hard bargain, pirate,” he sighs. 

“Told you, it’s Rey. Not pirate.”

“Rey,” he murmurs, testing it and deciding it suits her, somehow. He knows he doesn’t need her help, not really—but there is still that odd sensation in his chest that is so very different from the usual hollowness that comes with his every waking moment. She’s a nuisance, this pirate, this _Rey_ —but she is not boring, by any means. “Alright, Rey. We have an agreement.”

A smile creeps over her lips, one that dimples her cheeks and makes her eyes crinkle—only making that strange sensation in his chest worsen. “Perfect.” She eyes his binders. “You going to behave if I let you out of those?”

He blinks back at her with a blank expression, not saying that he could have broken them several minutes ago if he really wanted to. “You have my word.”

“Your _word,”_ she chuckles. “So interesting.” She stills a few feet away as she regards him curiously. “By the way. What do I call _you_ , exactly?”

His mouth parts with quiet surprise as he considers what to tell her—thinking to himself that this girl doesn’t seem to be the type to be _afraid_ of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, on the contrary, he’s beginning to think there isn’t _anything_ that could frighten this scrappy little scavenger—but still he finds himself hesitant to give his name, at least the one that he is known by for the better part of the galaxy. 

“Ben,” he says in a bit of a rush, surprising himself. “Ben Solo.”

“Ben,” she tests, giving him no indication that she finds it familiar. Not that she would—Ben Solo, for all accounts and purposes, is long dead. “Got yourself a deal, Ben.”

She gives him a look of warning as she picks up her blaster again, keeping it tight in her grip as she steps across the space and reaches for his bonds. She unfastens them quickly to let them fall to the floor with a _clunk_ —Kylo, or rather _Ben_ rubbing his wrists to ease some of the soreness there. 

She doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest when he rises to his full height to tower over her—peering up at him without an ounce of fear before her eyes wander to the general area of his body as her jaw works subtly.

“You’re going to have to lose the cape,” she tells him. “You look like a Senator or something.”

She turns on her heel to trod off from the makeshift brig—leaving Ben scowling behind her and eyeing his own state of dress with an increasingly familiar irritation that she seems to be prone to inducing. 

He thinks to himself that he has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going to go fine for sure


	2. Your Plaything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Kylo probably seems a little too complacent in all this—but hopefully it will become more clear as to why as we get further in. Also, I love this Rey. 
> 
> also have I mentioned how hard canon is I stg I bought a Star Wars novel for $6 trying to figure out what species Bragthrap the bartender is because wiki says its his only mention and they STILL DONT SAY WHAT HE IS IN THE BOOK I AM STILL SALTY ABOUT THIS

He’s still not sure about the clothes she’s given him.

It isn’t so much that he _prefers_ black, it’s just that he’s always seemed to… gravitate towards it? Regardless, seeing himself in earth tones is jarring, to say the least.

He finds her lounging in the main hold watching a holovid that makes her chuckle, and she only looks up when he’s fully in her space and clearing his throat. She gives him a blatant look up and down from head to toe as she assesses, pursing her lips together in thought as he shifts uncomfortably.

“Wow, you look like every man who’s ever bought me Corellian whiskey,” she laughs finally.

He frowns. “Do you have a lot of men buying you Corellian whiskey?”

She only grins back at him in response, and for reasons he can’t name there is a spark of that same irritation in his chest. He doesn’t tell her that he is technically half-Corellian, he thinks this would only further her amusement. 

“I take it I pass your imaginary dress code then?”

She shrugs casually, pushing up from her seat. “You’ll do.” Another soft chuckle. “At least they won’t be jumping you at the door now.”

“And they would have before?”

“You looked like you walked out of a First Order recruitment holo.”

“There are no First Order recruitment holos.”

“Well, if there were, I bet the guy would wear a fancy cape like yours. Nothing says _conquer the galaxy_ like a fancy cape.”

He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Where are my things you confiscated from me?”

“What things?”

“My weapon, Rey. I want my weapon.”

“Mm. Didn’t see a blaster on you.”

He doesn’t have to search her mind to know that she’s lying. He narrows his eyes. “Rey.”

“Fine, _fine,”_ she huffs, reaching to rummage under the cushion of the bench seat she was just sitting on. She pulls out his saber hilt to hold it up with a resigned expression, giving it a little shake before she hands it over. “Thought those Jedi people carried those?”

“They used to,” he murmurs, clipping it to his belt.

“Fancy,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Best keep that thing under wraps if you can,” she warns. “Something like that would fetch a pretty penny with the right buyer. Someone sees you with that they’ll most likely be trying to lift it from you.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “And hide it under a bench seat somewhere?”

She spins on her heel as she throws her arms in the air, moving towards the narrow hall that leads towards the ramp that will take them outside. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get this over with.”

He wonders if there’s anything this scavenger could do that wouldn’t leave him irritated.

* * *

He hadn’t been quite prepared for the sheer _size_ of Maz’s castle—finding the structure to be just that. It towers high up into the skyline, looking impenetrable from every side, and ancient to boot. 

Rey leads him into a courtyard that boasts a towering statue of the fabled pirate queen herself—and he follows after his tiny guide closely if only so that he doesn’t get lost. 

“Don’t look anyone in the eye when we’re inside,” she mutters when they pass a Syboona clutching something shiny in their clawed hand. “And don’t draw that weapon of yours. Not unless you want to fight.”

“You seem to think I couldn’t handle myself if it came to violence,” he snorts under his breath. 

She grins up at him. “Just don’t want any scars on that pretty face of yours.”

“Must you point out my appearance every other minute?”

She shrugs, still smiling as she returns her attention ahead. “I just like how your nose wrinkles when I do say it.”

His mouth parts as his brow furrows. “It does not.”

“Don’t worry,” she says flippantly as they near the entrance. “It’s sort of cute.”

Heat creeps over his cheeks and down his neck, opening his mouth to dispute literally _everything_ she’s just said but robbed of the chance when she pulls on the massive handle of an ancient-looking door to tug it open. It comes with a groan as the light from outside pours into a dim sort of tavern that looks like it was carved from the stone rather than built from it—littered in every corner with various species that he only partially recognizes.

The center is all lit up with some crackling fire that casts flickering light all about the room, and somewhere a band plays a rousing tune as people of every size, shape, and color talk amongst themselves at various decibels and the occasional piece of food flies across the room to hit some unsuspecting person. 

Chaos. It’s utter chaos.

The eyes all turn when the pair of them step inside, the chatter falling quiet for a moment as everyone turns in their seat to take a gander at whoever has stepped inside. After a handful of seconds they seem satisfied, returning to their tankards and their games of Sabacc.

Rey pushes through the crowd as if she owns it, leaving Ben to wade through the wake she leaves and feeling ridiculous to be so glued to her like some sort of apprentice. His frame is too large for following—his shoulders too wide, his gait much the same—and it feels as if it was inevitable, when he finally bumps someone with his elbow. 

The effect is immediate—a thin hand curls at his shoulder to spin him until he’s looking up into the green scales of an angry-looking Frenk whose nostrils flare with irritation. “Watch where you’re _going,_ ” he growls.

The Frenk gives Kylo a shove at the shoulder for good measure, and Kylo feels hot anger start to bubble in his chest as he grits his teeth and takes a step towards the creature, one hand on his saber beneath his tunic. 

“Woah, woah, _easy,”_ Rey interrupts, shoving herself between them. “He didn’t mean anything by it, Vero,” she assures the Frenk. She waves her hands between them as if she might wave away the tension itself—keeping her eyes locked on the much larger being on the other side of her. “He’s got two left feet is all.”

Ben snorts as he gapes at Rey openly, but she still isn’t looking at him—instead keeping her saccharine-sweet smile on this _Vero_ who still looks perturbed. At least, Ben _thinks_ he looks perturbed. It’s hard to tell with the narrowness of his face. 

Vero shakes his head with a scoff finally, stepping away. “Rey should keep a tighter grip on her playthings.”

The Frenk turns on his heel to leave them there, and Kylo gapes after him as he tries to process what he’s just heard. Rey’s sigh of relief and her slim fingers curling around his forearm bring him back to the present—and he blinks down at her with what is surely an exasperated expression. 

“Your _plaything?”_

“Eh, I wouldn’t read too much into that.”

She’s tugging him along now, but he’s still staring at the back of her head as if she’s sprouted a second. “Just how many _playthings_ do you bring to this place?”

She peeks back over her shoulder with a grin. “Jealous, Ben?”

His cheeks heat as he scoffs, averting his gaze even as she laughs. “Hardly.” He lets his gaze wander then if only to distract himself from her. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

“To the pirate queen, of course,” she tosses back over her shoulder. 

“You’re taking me to Maz Kanata?”

“You wanted to speak to her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think we were just going to walk right in and—”

Another cheeky grin over her shoulder. “I told you coming in with a local would be in your favor.”

“I am having a hard time believing that your services warrant the fifty thousand credits,” he grumbles.

“Oh, come on now,” she teases as she pulls him through the crowd. “You can’t put a price on company like this.”

“Apparently you can,” he mutters.

“Hush back there,” she tuts, sidling up to the wide bar area and pulling him along with her. “You drink?”

He frowns. “Not in a very long time.”

“No Dragonjuice for you, then,” she says. She taps on the bar to get the attention of a grizzled human behind the boor. “Bragthrap! Can we get two Juma Juices?”

Bragthrap grunts back at her, turning to grab for two tankards from the shelf behind him. “Thought you’d still be recovering from last night.”

“Who me?” She leans on her elbows. “You think a little hangover is enough to take me out?”

“As I recall,” Bragthrap says with a gravelly laugh, “you threw up on a service droid.”

She waves him off. “That was just too much dancing. Nothing to worry about.”

Bragthrap still looks less than convinced, but he pushes their tankards under a tap all the same. Kylo finds himself staring at the side of this strange girl’s face that he’s found himself unwittingly in camaraderie with—wondering just who in kriff’s name she _is._

“Who’s the stiff?”

Kylo’s attention snaps back to the old bartender—finding his gaze scrutinizing as he sizes Kylo up. There is a current of unease that courses through him under Bragthrap’s stare, knowing at any moment someone could recognize him and start an entire world of trouble for him. 

And then _she_ would know, more importantly. For the life of him he can’t decide _why_ that’s important—but it is, for whatever reason. 

“This is my new friend, Ben,” Rey says casually with a pat at Kylo’s shoulder just as Bragthrap shoves a tankard in front of her. “Ben Solo.”

He doesn’t think either of them could have anticipated the unearthly quiet that settles throughout the common area. 

The music dies and the voices do the same—and he can _feel_ the eyes on him from every direction, pinning him to the stool on which he sits as if bound there by daggers. His heart begins to hammer in his chest as his hand _slowly_ reaches beneath his tunic to try and get to his saber before someone can react, readying himself for something, _anything_ that might follow the unnerving quiet that surrounds them in reaction to his old name.

Bragthrap leans in with a shocked expression. “Solo? Do you mean you’re—”

“ _Rey!”_

Rey and Kylo both turn on their stools to catch sight of the tiny figure coming down the winding stone staircase across the room. Her wrinkled skin reminds Kylo of a withered citrus fruit, and her eyes are made to appear much larger than they are behind the thick lens attached to her face. 

She adjusts her leather cap as she hops down from the last stair, pacing through the crowd that parts for her as if she is someone of importance. She stills only a few feet away as she regards the deathly silence of the room, frowning as she waves her hands in chiding.

“What’s with this quiet? Back to your business, the lot of you!”

The chatter picks back up immediately with the music following after, leaving Kylo to wonder what it is about his old name that would have everyone craning their necks to get a look at him even now, when they think he can’t see them. Rey hops down from her stool seemingly unaffected from the strange events that just occured, meeting the outstretched arms of the tiny female who wraps them around Rey’s middle. 

“Maz,” Rey greets warmly.

 _Maz?_ Ben finds himself floored by this news. _This_ is Maz Kanata? The famed pirate queen who has lived nearly a millennium?

 _Well,_ he thinks, _that part he can believe, at least._

“How is your head, child?” Maz reaches to pat Rey’s temple. “I thought you’d be sleeping the day away after the night you had.”

“Have you ever known me to be downed by too much Juma Juice?”

Maz chuckles good naturedly. “For such a tiny thing, you drink like a Hutt.” Maz turns her attention on Kylo then, reaching to adjust the lenses over her eyes as she looks him up and down. “And who have you brought with you?”

“New friend,” Rey tells her. “Says he needs to speak to you about a _personal_ matter.”

“Personal matter, eh?” She looks amused as she steps up to close the distance between them, and he finds himself unnerved by Maz Kanata despite her short stature. “Don’t get many First Order cronies in my castle settling _personal_ business,” she says in a hushed but pointed tone.

Kylo’s mouth parts in surprise. “How did you—?”

“I know everything that happens on Takodana,” she tells him with a twinkle in her eye. “ _Everything.”_ She turns on her heel then, taking a few steps as she shuffles off towards a quieter corner, turning to cast a backwards glance at them both. “Well, come on then.”

Kylo has to admit he foresaw this entire mission going very _differently_ in his mind—doing little more at this point than following along with everything thrown at him mostly out of blind _intrigue_ —something that is still very new to him.

They follow Maz to a lonely table in the far corner of the room—seating themselves around a table as she hops onto a stool of her own. Rey sets her tankard down on its surface before sliding its twin over to Kylo, and he peers down into the liquid warily before taking a tentative sip only to come up coughing a little.

Rey pats him on the back. “Easy there, killer,” she laughs before taking a much _easier_ -looking sip of her own drink. “Don’t fight it.”

He frowns over at her before attempting a second drink, taking this one much easier even as it burns a little going down.

“So,” Maz starts as she laces her fingers together. “What does the First Order want with Maz Kanata?”

Kylo sets his tankard back on the table. “Nothing. This is a matter only important to me.”

“To Ben Solo,” she murmurs with a searching look.

His jaw works before he answers quietly, “Yes.”

“I knew a Solo once,” she tells him. “A good man.”

“I’m sure there is no relation,” Kylo tells him curtly.

“Maybe not,” Maz says flatly. “That man is dead, anyway.”

Kylo’s fingers curl at the edge of the table, gripping the wood just a little tighter than necessary. “I came to seek a certain item,” he tells her. “I have it on good authority that it is here.”

“I have a lot of items,” Maz says nonchalantly. “You can imagine how many things I have come across in my travels.”

Kylo thinks it would be unwise to point out that Maz’s _travels_ are more likely of the pirating nature, thinking it to be a bad idea. 

“This is very specific,” Kylo says without tearing his eyes away. “It belonged to Anakin Skywalker.”

“Skywalker?” Rey slams her tankard down against the table to give him a curious look, and he realizes all at once she’s already drained the entire glass. Just how much _can_ she drink? “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Kylo doesn’t tear his eyes away from Maz, staring her down. Her eyes peer back at him with a heaviness that is almost unnerving—almost as if he can _feel_ the years she’s lived in the weight of her gaze. Almost as if this tiny female can see every sin he’s ever committed, as if she can see right through him to sift through his mind as she pleases. 

It’s unsettling, to say the least, but Kylo doesn’t back down. 

He prods at her mind only to be met with a stone wall, and if he didn’t know any better—he would say that the old woman actually gives him a _smirk._

“And if I had this thing you seek,” she says casually. “You can imagine that it was hard to come by.”

It’s a story he would very much like to know—how Anakin’s saber fell into the hands of the pirate queen after having been lost in Cloud City so many years ago—but he assumes this is not the time to ask such things. 

“I can pay any price,” Kylo tells her. “Just name it.”

“I have no use for credits,” she scoffs. “Swimming in them, practically. No, I would require something a great deal more valuable than credits alone, were I to consider parting with such a treasure.”

Kylo presses his lips together, irritation prickling his skin. “And I don’t imagine that anything of interest to you would be easily obtained.” 

Maz’s wrinkled face splits into a smile. “You’re brighter than the Solo I knew, that’s for sure.”

“Hardly,” Rey snorts as she leans back on her stool to signal a waitress for another drink. “You should have seen how he planned to—”

Ben leans in, not letting Rey finish. “What is it that you want?”

Maz studies him for a long moment with that same heavy stare—and it takes all Kylo has not to shift beneath it, not to let it show just how much the pirate queen unnerves him. “Well,” she starts. “Now that you mention it, there is an item of great interest to me that my sources tell me resides on Batuu.”

“Your sources,” Kylo echoes.

“Very good sources,” she affirms. “If they say it is there, it is there.”

“And what sort of item might that be?”

“It’s small. A cube, of sorts. That is all you need to know. You will find it in the personal safe of Oga Garra.”

“ _Oga?”_

Kylo whips his head around to take in Rey’s shocked expression. “You know of them?”

“She’s only the biggest crime lord in all of Batuu,” Rey scoffs. “Runs a nice cantina though. Had a fellow buy me _actual_ Merenzane Gold there while I was transporting some repurposed service droids to this guy over on—”

“Yes,” Maz interrupts. “That’s the one.”

Kylo blows out a breath, feeling his patience wearing thin. “And I assume this Oga would not part with this item easily.”

“If she would,” Maz chuckles. “I wouldn’t be sending _you_ after it, now would I?”

Kylo taps his fingers on the table’s surface. “And what is to stop me from just taking whatever I want?”

“You could try,” Maz tells him with a sly grin. “But I think you’ll find it far less easy than you think.”

Maz doesn’t look frightened of him, hardly—she carries that same belligerent air as this tiny scavenger starting in on her second tankard beside him—and he knows without even being sure of _how_ he knows that the only way he will ever see Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber is if Maz Kanata passes it to him with her own hands. 

Ben’s brow furrows. “And how can I even know that I can find whatever it is you want?”

“Sometimes the things we are looking for find _us_ , Ben Solo,” she says cryptically. “Even if not in the way we first expect.”

He hasn’t the slightest idea what that might mean—but he’s beginning to discern that Maz Kanata rarely says what she _actual_ _l_ _y_ means.

“Fine,” Kylo says finally. “I will obtain this… cube for you. After, you will give me what I seek.”

“You have my word,” she assures him. 

“The word of a pirate,” Ben scoffs.

Rey snorts with a hiccup. “Hey, I resent that.”

“I will simply hire a new ship,” Kylo says, “and then I will—”

Rey barks out a laugh. “You think anyone here will be looking to hire out their ship to a stranger? Not exactly the most trusting lot we got here.”

“Surely there’s someone that can—”

Rey’s lips split into a wide grin. “I happen to know a top-notch pilot who would be more than happy to cart your moody self anywhere in the galaxy you like… for another fifty-thousand credits.”

“As if I am going to spend that amount _again_ just to—”

“She’s right,” Maz tells him pointedly. “You’re unlikely to find anyone in my castle willing to hire out to a complete stranger.”

Kylo closes his eyes as he heaves a sigh from his nostrils, feeling a headache coming on as he imagines traveling _anywhere_ with this girl who might have been designed just to test him. 

Rey pats him on the back as she finishes off her second glass. “Cheer up, Ben. I’ll even let you sit in the cockpit if you’re a good boy.”

He thinks that Rey might be the death of him.

If he doesn’t kill her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure this will result in no shenanigans and go just fine yes good quite


	3. Grumpy, But Cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo ho yo ho a pirate Rey for me

He already wishes he’d simply _forced_ Maz Kanata to give him what he was after. It’s the second time in twenty-four hours he’s found himself aboard a ship he never thought he’d see again—and every second spent aboard it only makes him that much more uncomfortable, that much more susceptible to all the memories of it that he’s long since locked away. 

He lets his fingers brush against the metal panels on the walls of the circular main corridor—trying not to think of times when he was much smaller, times when he would run this corridor as fast as his little legs could carry him while Chewie chased after him. 

He wonders now what the old Wookiee is doing.

He wonders now if the Wookiee would kill him on sight, given the last time they saw each other on Ilum.

He shakes those memories away as he tugs at the sand-colored tunic he wears for the dozenth time that day, feeling less himself in these clothes. Feeling less like _Supreme Leader Kylo Ren_ and more like _Ben Solo_ in the clothes he now wears. A ridiculous notion, given that Ben Solo is long dead, no matter what name Rey calls him. 

He steps into the mouth of the cockpit to find her seated there, reaching in front of her to prepare the hyperdrive for the jump to Batuu. His breath comes with a little more difficulty in this tiny space—and for one flash of a second, Ben can see sandy-brown hair and a crooked smile there in the Captain’s chair grinning back at him as Han Solo offers some rare bit of _wisdom_ that was actually always more likely to get Ben into trouble. 

It makes his chest hurt in ways he thought it wasn’t capable of anymore. 

Kylo clears his throat. “How long is the jump to Batuu?”

“Eight hours, maybe?” She doesn’t look at him as she speaks, still fiddling with the controls. “Given that we don’t run into any First Order cruisers along the way.” She turns her head ever so slightly to cock an eyebrow at him. “Your friends are some real nerfherders.” 

Kylo purses his lips. He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t have any friends. Not really. 

She turns more fully in her chair now, turning her head curiously. “You look a little pale. You a bad flyer or something?”

“Hardly,” Kylo snorts.

Her mouth quirks. “Oh? Fancy yourself a pilot, do you?” Her grin widens to something smug. “Did you think that when I gunned you down?”

“A once in a lifetime occurrence,” he huffs. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“Keep telling yourself that, pretty boy,” she chuckles as she turns back to what she was doing. 

He rolls his eyes at the back of her head at her use of her seemingly favorite endearment, letting his eyes roam the cockpit in lieu of answering as he ducks to push further inside. 

“Said you’ve been on this ship before, didn’t you?”

Ben nods aimlessly, his breath catching a little when he notices something old and familiar hanging just above her head. “A long time ago.”

She watches as he curls his body to reach out in front of her, his fingers brushing against the tiny gold dice that leave him with a bit of nausea creeping through him.

“All this time,” he murmurs.

“You wanna tell me just how you know this ship?”

Ben swallows thickly as he quickly jerks his hand back, schooling his features as he clears his throat. “I just knew the old pilot, that’s all.”

He doesn’t look at her as he unconsciously tugs at the collar of his tunic, his teeth pressing together a little with tension. He can feel her eyes on him even though he refuses to look, too afraid of what he might give away—and her voice is a little softer when she says, “Might as well get some sleep. Batuu won’t be a picnic.”

“Right,” he murmurs, turning with every intention of heading for the crew quarters. “I’ll do that.”

He doesn’t look back as he turns to leave, thinking to himself if he never steps into this space again—it would still be too soon.

Kylo thinks to himself that this ship has too many kriffing ghosts.

* * *

The crew quarters feel a little less stifling—a smaller Ben having only spent his time in this space _sleeping_ in the past and therefore feeling somewhat safe from the assault of old memories as he sheds his tunic for something more breathable that he’s rummaged from the storage lockers. It smells a bit of dust and age, but he thinks that it will do for sleeping. 

He tries not to think of who it might have belonged to. 

He’s pulling a blanket from an overhead locker as he prepares to cram his large frame onto one of the bunks that had seemed so much larger to him as a child when he hears footsteps approaching behind him. He turns just as Rey enters the crew quarters with her arms stretched high over her head and her mouth parted in a yawn. 

“What a day,” she says cheerfully. “Captured a Dewback-sized First Order crony”—she unclips her belt that holds her blaster to hang it on a hook nearby—“gained a nice little chunk of change for a job well done”—she starts on the stretchy bands that wrap under her breasts—“even got a new job under my belt, all in the same day! You’re turning into a very profitable friend, Ben Solo.”

Kylo rolls his eyes. “ _Friend_ is a very loose term, I think.”

“Oh, come on,” she says with a grin, working at the bands on her arms next. “Aren’t you having a little fun? Surely all this must be a little more entertaining than Maker-knows-what those First Order goons had you doing. Burning down planets and razing villages and what have you.”

“Right,” he grumbles. “Tons of— _what are you doing?”_

She furrows her brow as if _he’s_ the one being strange, the shirt she’s just pulled over her head in one fell swoop clutched in her tiny hand to leave her nearly-naked from the waist up. That same stretchy material is wrapped tight around her breasts to offer meager coverage—but it leaves… _very little_ to the imagination. 

Her head cocks to the side in confusion. “What?”

He averts his eyes with a palm covering them for good measure. “You can’t just—You’re— _put on some clothes!”_

“You act like you’ve never seen a naked woman before,” she laughs. “Besides, I have clothes on.”

He peeks through his fingers to find her moving on to her leggings next—peeling them down to reveal soft, tanned thighs that are sprayed lightly with the same freckles that dust her shoulders and cheeks. His tongue feels a little too thick in his mouth, and his stomach swirls with an odd sort of fluttering that leaves him unsettled. 

“You don’t—Surely you don’t _sleep_ like this,” he stammers.

“Yes?” She carefully folds her leggings to add them to the pile of her other clothes on a nearby chair. “It’s not comfortable to sleep in all those layers. I get hot.”

He’s trying not to stare at the way her simple cotton underwear hardly contain the rounded curves of her bottom—failing miserably for several seconds before she turns to face him and forces his gaze upwards to meet her eyes again.

Her mouth quirks in a sly grin as she cocks her fists on her naked hips. “Something wrong, Solo?”

He feels heat flushing in his chest and up his neck and over his cheeks—that fluttering in his belly turning hot as it spreads… lower. 

“Nothing,” he grinds out finally, forcing himself to turn so that he can’t see her anymore. “Just tired.”

He can still hear the smile in her voice when she answers, “Of course.”

He can hear her settling into her own bunk as he does the same, but he doesn’t chance rolling back towards her until he hears the rustling of covers that signal she’s more appropriately covered. He finds her elbow resting against her bunk and her chin propped on her fist—and even with the blankets, there is an enticing view of the swell of her breasts resting just above the edge that rise and fall with every breath. 

It takes all he has not to stare. 

“What is it that you wanted from Maz?” She asks him curiously. “Why did you come to Takodana?”

He presses his lips together. “It is a personal matter.”

“Yes,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “So you said.” 

His jaw works subtly as he considers, finally rolling to his back to peer up at the ceiling instead. “Something that belonged to my grandfather.”

“This Anakin Skywalker,” she presses.

“Yes,” he answers quietly. “Him.”

“Is it important?”

“Only to me,” he tells her.

“Why?”

“It just is.”

“But _why?”_

“Because I don’t have anything _else,”_ he admits exasperatedly. “Of my family.”

She is quiet for a moment, and seconds pass where his heart beats a little harder as he stares up at the ceiling. Her voice is softer when she speaks again. “You were close to your grandfather?”

“No,” he laughs bitterly. “I never even met him.”

“Then why go looking for his things?”

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I always thought he might have understood me. If he’d gotten the chance to know me.”

“It sounds to me like you’re just looking for something you don’t have now,” she says with a snort.

He turns his head slightly to catch her raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Maybe you don’t actually want to find your grandfather’s dusty old things,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe you just want to feel closer to your family.”

His mouth parts with quiet surprise, blinking back at her easy assessment that hits a little too close to home. Almost as if she can see into his _head._

His mouth snaps shut only to tear his eyes away, rolling to face the wall as he gives her his back. “Get some sleep,” he tells her. “We have a lot to do when we wake.”

He can still feel her eyes on him as the seconds tick by, but after a time he hears her shifting on her bunk just before a _click_ of a switch where the overhead lights power down to leave them shrouded in darkness. She says nothing else as he listens to her settle in, his heart still hammering a little in his chest as he keeps his eyes trained on the wall in front of him.

_Maybe you just want to feel closer to your family._

Kylo still thinks his scavenger captor gets under his skin just a little more than she should—and the realization of just _how much_ she does is starting to make it almost difficult to be around her. 

For whatever reason.

* * *

He admittedly has a hard time keeping his eyes on her for too long now. 

Not, he thinks, that it’s his fault; he didn’t _ask_ to have the image of soft curves and freckled swells burned into his brain. 

She’s currently tightening her holster at her belt as if there is nothing amiss—the pair of them readying for the mission ahead as the _Falcon_ rests just outside the edge of Black Spire outpost. 

“Now, if anyone asks,” she’s saying, “we’re seeking a buyer for some lifted Chak-root from a First Order freighter.”

Kylo cocks an eyebrow, clipping his saber to his belt and then settling his tunic over it to keep it hidden. “Is that cover from personal experience?”

Her lips curl in a wicked grin. “It might be.”

“And why do we need a cover story to begin with?”

“The easiest way to pull the wool over wary eyes on Batuu is to establish that you are no friend to the First Order,” she informs him. 

“But aren’t you… you know,” he tries, “already one of them?”

She grimaces. “About that. Don’t use my name. Here, I’m Kira.”

“Is there a story there?”

“The story is that _Rey_ might have picked the wrong pocket,” she mutters under her breath, tucking her blaster in its holster. “Not my fault. How was I supposed to know he was a Kanjiklubber?”

“Is there anyone you come across that you _don’t_ end up crossing?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m an acquired taste.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes a blaster from her outstretched hand, clipping it to his own holster but saying no more. He watches her settle the rest of her effects, patting at her waist and then reaching low to pat her boot—pulling a tiny blade from there before tucking it back where she found it.

“Right,” she says to herself just before she gives him her full attention. “Ready?”

“As if I have any other choice,” he grumbles.

She grins. “Grumpy, but still cute.”

She turns on her heel to tap at the control panel on the wall—giving him one last backward glance before she pushes the button that has the hatch opening slowly and the boarding ramp extending to rest against the sand outside. 

Dusk has already settled outside—one of its three suns already having sunk below the horizon with the other two sinking fast. Kylo thinks to himself that it's advantageous, not that he believes anyone here might recognize him. He doesn’t make a habit of crossing paths with smugglers and thieves. 

Well, not until recently, that is. 

Rey steps down the ramp quickly and gestures that he follows, and he tries not to let the irritation of being led around like her—as the Frenk put it— _plaything_ flare up in his chest, focusing instead on the mission at hand. 

The air here smells of heat and some cooked meat Kylo can’t name—the sounds reminiscent of trumpet fanfare from a nearby cantina and a low buzz of idle chatter from the various species that cluster outside the shops to chat amongst themselves. Kylo feels as if every set of eyes are somehow all trained on him—feeling as if he’s too big even for this wide street that carries them further into the outpost.

He keeps his voice to a whisper as he follows Rey past the entrance to Black Spire and onto the main street. “And where are we supposed to locate Oga’s personal safe?”

She keeps her eyes ahead as they follow along the waist-high stone wall that lines either side of the main road—working towards a cluster of various structures of stone and steel that bleed light and sounds out onto the street beyond.

“No idea,” she mutters back. “Hardly anyone has ever even _seen_ Oga.”

“ _What?”_

“ _Shh,”_ she chides, head snapping to sneak a glance at a passing Gran whose three eyes all peek back at them curiously. “She’s… elusive. Works behind the scenes. Trust me, you don’t _want_ to meet Oga. The only people who do are those who work with her and… well. Everyone else doesn’t really live to tell about it.”

“Which brings me back to my original question: how are we supposed to find her personal safe?”

“We’re going to find Cookie first,” she tells him. 

“Cookie?”

“Strono Tuggs,” she amends. “Maz’s contact. Used to cook at her palace.”

“And where is he cooking now?”

“Got a little grub hub nearby,” she tells him. “We’re going to find him, and see what he knows. As good a place to start as any, I reckon.”

“Still sounds like a wild goose chase to me,” Kylo snorts under his breath. 

“That’s because you’re a surly pessimist.”

He frowns as she rounds a bend to continue on between the structures towards the center of the outpost. “Well, I don’t think that we— _kriff.”_

He tugs at her wrist suddenly, pulling her towards an alleyway as he continues to curse steadily under his breath.

Rey pushes at his chest as he crowds her against the wall. “ _What do you think you’re—”_

 _“Quiet,”_ he hisses, eyes hard as they stare out into the street beyond in wait for them to pass. 

Her head turns to follow his gaze, whispering, “What is it?”

“Stormtroopers,” he whispers back. “What are they _doing_ here?”

Rey scoffs. “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about. There’s always a stray Trooper wandering around.”

“They’ll _recognize me.”_

“They’re not going to recognize one stray First Order—”

He grabs for her shoulders, eyes a little wide with panic at the idea of what will happen if he’s discovered _here_ with this little scavenger when he’s _supposed_ to be lightyears away on the flagship Star Destroyer. “They will _recognize me_ , Rey.”

Her eyes search his for several seconds—surely seeing the worry there, possibly even noticing the unraveled threads of his already threadbare falsity. There’s a heartbeat, a collection of moments, nothing more, and Kylo knows that any second a group of nearly half a dozen troopers will round the bend and the pair of them will be easily noticeable here in the mouth of this alley underneath the lamplight. 

Her hands on his face come as a surprise, and for a moment he’s too stunned to speak when her fingers curl at his jaw and she gives his face a tug to pull him down to her. Her mouth meets his—warm and soft and seeking—and Kylo can only rest there against it with his own for a good number of seconds as her fingers push into his hair to grip there subtly. 

But then there’s a soft swipe of her tongue at his lower lip, and a slight press of her knee against his thigh as her leg lifts to curl slightly around his, and her fingers are still in his hair while another tiny hand fists in his tunic—and she makes some quiet little sound when he opens his mouth just a little more, when he lets her tongue slip inside to pet at his.

He doesn’t _mean_ to lean into her, to push her against the wall and crowd her further with his body—but his hands are on her hips now, and his pelvis is pressed _hard_ against hers, and Maker, her _tongue_ , her _hands_ —

And then suddenly it all stops. 

She wrenches away to turn her head and peer over his shoulder, her chest rising and falling just a little harder than before as Kylo remains pressed against her, trying to make sense of what just happened as the pounding of his heart sounds in his chest and his ears and his head—making it hard to form any sort of rational thought. 

“I think they’re gone,” she says quietly.

Oh. 

_Oh._

_Of course._

It dawns on him suddenly that the entire thing had been nothing more than a clever diversion, something to ensure that no one would spare them too close a glance. Kylo repeats this truth in his head at least half a dozen times to make the weight of it settle there, peeling his hands from her hips with great effort as he forces himself to put distance between them. 

Even with knowing the entire thing was a farce, he can’t help but notice the slightly red and swollen quality of her mouth—and it makes that same heat in his belly that he’s only just discovering exists swirl like a maelstrom, filling him up with a raging sense of being… _unsettled._

“Right,” he says dazedly, pulling away from her as his hands fist at his sides. “That was… quick thinking.”

Her throat bobs with a swallow, her lips pressing together briefly and her lashes fluttering a bit—the only signs that she might be as affected as he currently feels. “Sorry,” she says quietly. “It was… the first thing I could think of. Didn’t want them to… look our way.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “Right.”

She presses her hands against her tunic to straighten it, averting her gaze as she clears her throat. “You want to tell me why you were so sure that a random group of Stormtroopers would recognize you?”

It’s his turn to avert his gaze now. “Just… can’t be too careful.”

“Too careful,” she echoes with a hint of suspicion in her voice. “Ben.”

His eyes flick up to meet hers, and he can’t describe the odd dread in his chest that comes from her finding out who he is, who he _really_ is. 

“You’re not just a grunt,” she says. “Are you.”

His jaw tenses as he turns his face towards the open street, considering his answer and deciding on none at all. “Come on,” he tells her, stepping out of the alleyway. “We have a job to do.”

She lingers in the alley, and for a moment he fears she won’t follow at all, that she will continue this line of questioning—all this worry wrapped up in the lingering sensation of her lips on his and her fingers in his hair. 

“Fine,” she says finally. “Then let’s get it done.”

She strides past him to continue onwards, and Kylo follows quietly, grateful that she isn’t asking more. 

Still unsure as to why he’s so desperate that she doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Supreme Leader suddenly forgot about the entire First Order 😔

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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